


This Dark Night

by almostbecamehistoric (capgal)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capgal/pseuds/almostbecamehistoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very drunk Grantaire is arrested by Javert. Enjolras gets in the way.. and pays for it. One-sided E/R. Grantaire POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'ed. If anyone is willing to be my beta, I would be very grateful!  
> This is also the closest thing to a "happy" fic I've written so far, and probably will be for a while. Also might become part of a much larger chaptered fic on a Javert/Enjolras quasi-friendship.

Grantaire couldn’t see straight. To be honest, he wasn’t even quite sure he was seeing, period. A good portion of his vision was just clouds of black. For the rest, objects and people around him moved in alarming and decidedly abnormal ways, colours bleeding into one another as the street turned sideways, people walked on roofs, and a stray dog swam across the sky. He clung to the bottle in his hand as the only certainty in a world that had suddenly gone crazier than usual. He thought he was staggering down the street towards the Café Musain, but then he could be wrong—he wasn’t even sure he was awake anymore. Out of nowhere, a muscular figure in dark blue appeared in front of him and he crashed straight into the man. He blinked frantically, trying to figure out what this sudden obstruction in his path was. He thought he could make out a blue hat, a black rod… _Oh. Oh. Just my luck._

“Ja.. Jabert, whurs the Cafi again?” he stammered out. His tongue would not cooperate with him and he realized his words would be difficult to understand at best.

“Inebriated again, Grantaire? I’m not sure you can make it to the café safely,” the figure responded in a voice laden with disapproval.

“Inter-what? Whurs the cafi?”

“Grantaire, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Grantaire squinted as best he could, cursing in his throbbing head. The motion sent a pounding pulse of pain through his head, while the blur that he supposed was Javert’s hand refused to focus into a clear picture. “Uh…. 7? No, uh, 10?”

“You can’t roam the streets when you’re this intoxicated, Grantaire. I’m going to have to take you to the station,” the Inspector said with a sigh. The words sent a jolt through Grantaire; he could not go to jail. Enjolras… Enjolras would be so disappointed, and he didn’t think he could stand another despising look from his golden-haired angel. “No! I not dringing tonie, I promit!”

“Don’t lie to me. Now turn around,” said Javert, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. Grantaire started to run as best he could, desperate to get away. Not tonight. No, he could not…

The Inspector, fitter and more aware than him, took two steps and caught his arms with ease. “Stop it, Grantaire. You’re resisting arrest, and that will only make your sentence longer.”

Grantaire felt the cold touch of slender metal against his wrists as Javert forced his arms behind his back and handcuffed him. “All I wan’ed to do wes hav a coople drings. Please, don’ tell Onjoras…” he muttered, still struggling to get away though he knew it was futile.

“I don’t care if Enjolras knows or not,” the other man stated coldly. Grantaire felt himself being lead down the street, when a familiar and dreaded voice reached his ears.

“Good evening, Inspecto—Grantaire. Dare I ask what happened?” Enjolras said, his voice quiet and melodious as ever.

“I’m taking your friend here to the station for the night so he can sober up. He got lost in the streets and couldn’t find the café.”

_Your friend? He just called me Enjolras's friend. Am I his friend? Could I…_

Enjolras’ tired sigh cut through his thoughts. “Why were you out this drunk in the first place, Grantaire? Why were you even out of the café?” He turned to the Inspector before Grantaire had a chance to respond. “I believe I can take over from here, Monsieur l’Inspecteur. Thank you for your help, and please accept my sincerest apologies for any disturbance he caused.”

“Not so fast,” Javert said, his voice hard. “The boy must pay for his crime. Public intoxication is indeed illegal, Monsieur. He will have to spend the night in jail.” Grantaire’s heart clenched. Not only would he have to go to jail tonight, he would have to be lead there in front of Enjolras. He felt the sudden urge to weep and clenched his teeth to block the tears. To his surprise, Enjolras took up his defense.

“Why, Inspector, I never took you for a hypocrite. You are quite regularly shattering many of my expectations recently. Were you not stumbling down these very streets yourself a mere night ago? I do not seem to recall seeing you spend the night in jail.” Grantaire blinked. The Inspector, drunk? He somehow could not picture it, yet if Enjolras said so, then it must have happened.

“It only counts as public intoxication when the person becomes a threat to himself or others.” The man’s voice was somehow even more frigid than before. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take care of this.” Grantaire was pulled roughly by the arm, and he stumbled after the Inspector, trying desperately not to throw up.

“Are you saying that Grantaire is more of a threat than you are?” Enjolras’ voice suddenly came from in front, and Grantaire realized he must have stepped in front of them, blocking the way.

“Get. Out. Of the way. Enjolras. You’re interfering with police business.” The Inspector’s words were clipped, and Grantaire could feel the man shaking slightly in his attempt to control his anger.

Enjolras, in his customary fashion, refused to back down even though that would have been the smarter, safer choice. “Not until you can justify your actions. I am no coward that backs away at the first hint of a threat, Monsieur l’Inspecteur, and I do not step down in the face of injustice. If you wish me to move, you will have to convince me that you are right—or remove me by force.”

“Then I will remove you by force, Enjolras! Get out of the way! NOW! You’re interfering with a police case, and I WILL NOT hesitate to throw you in a cell with your drunken friend.”

“I repeat: I will not step down. If you wish to arrest me, then do so, Inspector. Your threats hold no terror for me.” Enjolras’ voice rang with contempt, and Grantaire instinctively cringed away from it; how often had that icy tone been directed at him? “A night in a cell for standing up for my principles, for defending my beliefs? I welcome it! Let me share in the misery of those who are oppressed daily! Let me experience their suffering, let me know their despair! And, heaven willing, let me thereby become a symbol of the future, a light of hope!” The usual harsh musicality was back in his voice, and Grantaire found himself getting lost in it again. The passion, the strength of the voice had always been the first thing that drew him in, before even the beautifully chiselled face and the shining blue eyes. The way it dipped and soared, the way it grew rough and yet somehow retained its musical tones, the way…

“Fine. So be it.” The words jerked Grantaire out of his reverie. His vision seemed to clear suddenly, and he saw the much larger man grab Enjolras roughly by his shoulder and spin him around. The marble hands were jerked forcefully behind his back. The sight of merciless metal cuffs around the slender wrists made Grantaire’s heart stutter in horror. They did not belong there, bound in the harsh loops of cold metal; they were meant to be free, to move, to slice the air as the golden angel was consumed in the fire of his own speech.

Enjolras did not seem to mind. He simply adjusted his wrists slightly in the handcuffs, and glared scornfully at Javert. “Lead the way, dear Inspector! I’ve not had reason yet to be acquainted with your fine jails. Truly, I am grateful for this opportunity; it will prove an educational and interesting, if nothing else.” Grantaire staggered along the street once more, hardly sure of what to do. Enjolras’ presence had heightened his awareness, and at least he could see properly now; but his mind was still reeling from the fact that Enjolras had defended him, and then gotten arrested. _My fault. All my fault._

Somehow, they reached the jailhouse. Enjolras, who had been silent the whole way, glanced around with mild curiosity in his eyes. “Rather imposing, inevitably dark, definitely drab; all in all, not the cheeriest of places. But then, that is the purpose, is it not? To weigh down on its inhabitants, both physically and emotionally.”

“Be quiet, Enjolras,” growled the police Inspector, shoving them roughly down a hallway. Grantaire flinched slightly from the anger in the voice.

“Threatening my freedom of speech as well, Inspector?” Enjolras, undaunted by the larger man, laughed scornfully. “I wish you the best of luck; you will need all the scraps of it you can get if you are to have the slightest hope of success.”

The Inspector chose to ignore the mocking statement, dragging them along in silence. As they were pushed inside a small, gloomy cell, Grantaire realized he had not yet said a word to Enjolras. “I… You didn’t have to do that for me,” he stammered. His tongue, at least, seemed more willing to cooperate this time.

“I did not do it for you, Grantaire. I did it for the sake of what is fair and what is right. I did it for the sake of justice.” There was no anger in the voice, for once, but there was also no warmth. It was simply a statement of fact for the golden-haired boy. Grantaire kicked himself for ever hoping that his god and deigned to do something for him.

Javert rolled his eyes and left, locking the cell behind him. The metallic click of the lock rang ominously in the empty cell. Grantaire leaned against the cold wall with his eyes closed, attempting to stop his stomach from heaving and the room from spinning. He would not lose it in front of Enjolras.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire woke with a terrible pain in his head; it felt as if it would burst in half. He grabbed his head roughly with his hands and groaned.

“Awake at last, Grantaire? I was beginning to think that you had finally drunk yourself into an endless stupor.” Grantaire spun around at the sound of the smooth voice. _Enjolras? But how? What happened?_ He stared blankly at the golden angel standing in a corner of the cell, leaning against the wall as comfortably as if it were his usual morning routine to wake up in a jail cell with Grantaire.

“I do believe our sentence is complete now. While that wasn’t an experience I would enjoy repeating, it was certainly worth having,” said Enjolras with a mild smile. The previous night’s events came crashing back into his mind, and he groaned again. _Oh no. I… I got Enjolras jailed._

Before he could fully berate himself for his stupidity, Grantaire saw the Inspector walk down the hallway. “Inspector Javert?” Enjolras called calmly. “If I am not mistaken, it is time for you to return to us our freedom to go where we wish and do as we wish.”

“Grantaire can leave. You, Enjolras, have to stay another day.”

The words struck Grantaire like the blows of a hammer. “Enjolras stays? Why? He… He didn’t do anything!”

Javert glared at him scornfully and opened his mouth to response, but Enjolras cut in first. “Why, of course, Inspector. I assume I have been charged with obstruction of justice?”

 _Obstruction of justice? For… for helping me. For me. Me._ “I.. no!” He stared back and forth between the two motionless statues, one of marble, the other of stone. “No! You can’t just keep Enjolras here! You… you can’t. Not… not because of me…” his voice tapered out as shame and guilt overwhelmed him.

“What he did was based on his own choosing . You’re not involved in his sentence. Come, Grantaire, you’re free to go.”

Grantaire ignored the Inspector, looking imploringly at Enjolras instead. The light of his existence was looking at him with eyes ablaze. “It is not because of you, Grantaire, and I will not have you blaming yourself for no reason,” he said, his voice firm and quiet. “I would have done the same for anybody; it was only right. Go while you can. You’ll be of more use to me sending word to the others than sitting here sharing in my sentence.” Grantaire reeled, both from the casual implication that he did not matter more than the next man, and from the fact that Enjolras cared for him and had use of him.

The blue eyes turned towards the Inspector, who stood imposingly beyond the iron bars. “Do I have the right to write a few notes, Inspector?”

Javert narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What do you want, Enjolras.” It was less of a question, and more of an implied threat. Enjolras was still undaunted, laughing that cold, contemptuous laugh instead.

“Why, Inspector, are you afraid of what I might do? I am a mere schoolboy locked in a jail cell in handcuffs, you the police inspector that so dutifully threw me in here. Surely I present no threat.”

“Standard police protocol,” growled Javert. “I will treat you no differently than any other criminal.” Grantaire began to bristle at the implication that this god beside him was no different than any common criminal, but Enjolras’ quiet words stopped him once more.

“And I would have it no other way. You may read what I write if you wish, Inspector. I mean no harm; I simply wish to inform mes amis of my whereabouts and reassure them of my safety. They would be… nervous, if I failed to appear without sending an explanation.” 

The Inspector seemed frustrated still, but it seemed he could find no fault in Enjolras’ calm, quiet justification. He left, and returned a mere minute later with a piece of paper and pen. Enjolras smiled, a mocking edge in the expression. “I do believe you will have to remove my handcuffs, Monsieur l’Inspecteur, if I am to write. I know not about you, but I unfortunately lack the ability to write behind my back with my wrists bound together.”

The Inspector huffed in exasperation as he entered the cell to remove the handcuffs. Enjolras merely smiled serenely. “Thank you, Monsieur. I must say it is rather liberating to regain use of my hands once more—not to mention the position was becoming rather uncomfortable.” Shaking out cramped hands, he turned his attention to the paper and pen on the floor. Picking it up in one fluid motion, he pressed the paper against the wall and began writing, his smooth, flowing script rendered irregular by the stiffness in his fingers. 

“Would you be so kind as to tell me when I may be released?” he asked, in as nonchalant a voice as if he were asking for the time.

“Tomorrow.”

Grantaire stared. Enjolras would be spending yet another night in this dismal place, because of him. Guilt weighed his heart, and he hung his head. However, the golden-haired boy somehow did not seem to mind. “Rather unfortunate. I will have to miss two meetings in succession,” he said as he finished writing the notes. “Do you still wish to read these, Inspector? Ensure I am not spreading the deep secrets of the police force?”

Javert hesitated briefly. “No,” he said finally. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Enjolras nodded curtly. “Thank you. I appreciate the trust, Inspector.” He turned his attention back to Grantaire. “Give these to Combeferre, and tell him I apologize for missing tonight’s meeting.”

Grantaire nodded vigorously. “Got it, Enjolras. I won’t fail you this time.” He turned to the Inspector. “Thank you. For getting me off the streets last night.”

Javert nodded, and gestured towards the door. He followed a few steps, then turned around to look at Enjolras again. “Are you… are you sure you’ll be alright? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or God forbid, in pain. You… you didn’t do this for me, I know but… it’s still my fault, at least a little bit.”

Javert rolled his eyes and muttered impatiently, leaning on the doorway. Grantaire ignored him with ease; only Enjolras mattered in that moment. The blond smiled gently at him. “Thank you. I will be quite fine; it is you I worry for. Now go, before our dear Inspector becomes too impatient.” He looked up at the Inspector and sighed lightly. “I assume you wish to handcuff me again before you leave,” he said, turning around with his hands behind his back. Grantaire’s eyes stung at the sight of their implacable leader willingly exposing his hands to the harsh grasp of handcuffs. To his shock, however, the Inspector looked at Enjolras for a long moment before shaking his head. “No. You can keep your cuffs off.”

Enjolras blinked; he clearly had not expected this any more than Grantaire had. He recovered quickly though—when did Apollo ever fail to react quickly—and nodded. “Thank you, Inspector. I value your gesture of trust. And it would be a blatant lie if I were to say that the cuffs were not uncomfortable.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras one last time, before following the Inspector. If the man said he was fine, then he would be okay. For now, he had a task to do for his angel, and he do it as well and as quickly as he could. He nodded once to the Inspector before setting out towards Combeferre’s flat. _This time, Enjolras, I will make you proud._

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions, comments, constructive criticism, errors, anything--all appreciated! Thanks for reading!


End file.
